


When You Were Mine

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, Lee Unwin Lives, M/M, Pining, Seemingly unrequited love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5913379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But this hadn’t been the plan when Harry made his wish. He’d envisioned Eggsy growing up in the new house Lee and Michelle were saving for before the fateful bomb, practicing effortless flips on a gymnastics mat, flying through school with passing colors, and wanting for nothing.</p><p>That had been a mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Were Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plinys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/gifts).



> I listened a lot to Hamilton's "Burn" while writing this, and the lines "I knew you were mine / You said you were mine / I thought you were mine" kept revolving around in my head.
> 
> Thanks to yourefullofsurprises for beta-ing!

Harry’s thought of this—idly of course—of Eggsy strewn out on sheets in the aftermath of taking him to bed. He’d pictured it during long, sleepness nights in Medical: Eggsy sleepy but sated, thighs slick with sweat, every limb loose and heavy, a giggly smirk on his face. It had increased the night Eggsy stayed over for their traditional twenty-hour hours. Seeing Eggsy so comfortable in his home, jacket and hat carelessly forgotten on the couch, made Harry’s heart unfurl as soft as a loosened silk tie in his chest. And catching a glimpse of Eggsy curled underneath Harry’s dark red blankets, face peaceful, made any carnal fantasies Harry had harbored turn sweet and something he treasured in between stony, yet almost helplessly angry, glances after he’d returned from the dead.

It never crossed his mind—so stupid—that he’d see Eggsy like _this_ as a result of someone else.

Eggsy’s as loose-limbed as Harry imagined, but he’s not smiling sweetly up at him—or even in Harry’s bed.

Instead, he’s in his own room, artlessly cluttered with what he’s previously called  _guilt gifts from Da,_ and laughing at nothing in particular. His skin is pressed with bruises made by teeth and red marks by ragged fingernails, and he reeks of cigarettes and weed and alcohol and perspiration. Eggsy’s jeans are still partially unzipped—designer, hugging to every curve, and carefully-ripped at the knees for fashion, not because of lack of money to buy new ones.

In that moment, just that tiny moment, Harry almost hates him.

“Just take it,” Harry repeats for the third time, when he manages to catch the young man’s attention for more than one minute.

Eggsy’s fingers miss the breathalyzer several times, and Harry decides that’s as good a test as any.

“You’re drunk,” Harry says disapprovingly, even though he had known that the instant he stepped into that filthy underground club: a kaleidoscope of strobe lights in the darkness, cigarette smoke mixing heavily in the air with perspiration, graffiti on the walls with phone numbers and lewd sayings, a floor sticky with sweat and alcohol and god knows what else, and a bar stocked with bottles of every color and patrons slumped over yet still trying to order drinks.

In another life, Harry would have expected this of him. But this hadn’t been the plan when Harry made his wish. He’d envisioned Eggsy growing up in the new house Lee and Michelle were saving for before the fateful bomb, practicing effortless flips on a gymnastics mat, flying through school with passing colors, and wanting for nothing.

That had been a mistake, Harry now realizes. Since Eggsy now wanted for nothing, he’d lost what Harry had loved about him: his tenacity, his stubbornness, his heart.

The Eggsy of now sprawls on the bed, hair mussed from tugging fingers, the scent of cigarettes clinging to him like a second skin.

“Go shower,” Harry orders, harshness creeping into his tone, despite himself. “You might sober up.”

“Only if you join me,” Eggsy drawls, a leer twisting his half-hidden features in the shadows. “Come on, Harry, you know you want to.”

Harry flinches. Eggsy’s bold flirting was nothing new, but tonight—especially tonight—the armor Harry wears day in and day out dents like it's nothing but paper-mâché.

 _Courtesy is a gentleman’s armor,_ he thinks, remembering his father’s words, but courtesy is such a hard thing, especially with this Eggsy, who is confident in a way he’d never quite been with Harry in another life—another _world_.

“I see the way you look at me,” Eggsy continues relentlessly. “Like you want me, but can’t. But you _can_.” He spreads his legs and tucks his hands behind his head, elbows pointing out in opposite directions on either side. “I don’t care that you get paid to look after me—which you did a bang-up job of it tonight—and I don’t care if you don’t think it’s proper or some shit.”

“You’re _drunk_ ,” Harry repeats, voice too stiff. It's not the fact that he technically works for the Unwins. It's the fact that this Eggsy was not his, and every time Harry looks at this imposter—technically not, due to time travel semantics, but it sure damn feels that way—he's reminded of that. “And you were doing god knows what else in that club. Not to mention you were snogging someone nearly an hour ago.”

Eggsy shrugs. “Charlie? He means nothing to me, really. We’re just friends—but not like me and Roxy.” He shrugs again, smiling a little. “Then again, Roxy doesn’t look twice at blokes.”

Harry tries not to think of Eggsy snogging Roxy. Or Charlie, ever again. _Charlie,_ for fuck's sake.

“I don’t care what you and Mr. Hesketh and Ms. Morton get up to, as long as you are being safe.” Harry’s voice hardens. “But you’re not. For pity’s sake, you have exams in two days.”

“I don’t care about uni, and I haven’t in years.” Eggsy’s tone becomes petulant. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, stuck in a classroom nearly all day. I didn’t even pick my major. Mum did. Nothing _draws_ me in, you know? Like I’m supposed to be doing something else.”

_Like a spy?_

_Of sorts. Interested?_

Harry replaces the memory like a hard slap to the face, forcibly recalling another: _do it, do it, I know you can_ and _don’t make me, please, don’t..._

“You can do all sorts of things. You have privilege. Things that most people don’t have—"

Eggsy rolls his eyes, then immediately seems to forget it when his body sways on the bed. Harry’s surprised that he’s able to sit upright for so long. “I don’t have to listen to you, you know.”

“Right,” Harry says, now feeling very far away. “Right. Of course you don’t.”

“I don’t even know why you’re here. Besides the fact that Mum and Dad pay you to watch me.”

“You stole a car. A gateway to—”

“I wasn’t doing it for a laugh! Digby said—“

“All the same. Manners—“

“Maketh man, I _know_. Can you just shut the fuck up about that?”

Harry doesn’t know how much more the boy can hurt him until it happens. He’s still learning. “I will keep repeating it until you understand it. You’re entitled—“

Eggsy rolls his eyes. “And is this the part where you tell me _someone else has got it worse than me_? Mum has loads. Cancer. Starving kids a continent away. Ooh, or are you going to combine them? That’s always a good time.”

He’s drunk. And high. The furthest thing from sober. Harry knows Eggsy would have never said things like this while sober, but the lack of empathy from someone he used to know, someone who used to be so kind, stings him.

Harry’s reminded of the perfectly-cool green eyes, the desperate confusion in Michelle and Daisy’s eyes, the accent that had been scrubbed from Eggsy’s tongue, the pleading from victims with bloodied mouths, and the hard, but regretful, look on Merlin’s face when he showed Harry the footage. And of course, with those memories, comes the end: the gun firing. The bang. The mundane thump of a body falling backwards onto the pavement. Merlin’s voice in his ear, _“I’m sorry, Arthur, it had to be done.”_ Roxy sobbing in the background, un-fired gun trembling in her hands. Eggsy’s face frozen in hate on the ground.

It was Harry’s fault. He shouldn't have nurtured Eggsy with love, only to snatch it away at the last moment. He shouldn’t have left Eggsy with words that told him that he was useless and nothing more than a redemption quest. He shouldn’t have woken up too late to see a man he couldn’t recognize, a fortress built around his too-large heart.

Eggsy’s heart, Harry had thought, had been poison. It had weighed Eggsy down like a stone, undernourished and unused to kindness. Too little of such had been far too common in Eggsy’s entire life, and that’s why Eggsy had fallen so far that he did when Harry left.

How wrong he had been. He now looks at the Eggsy with hardly any heart left, once again, and doesn’t see the young man staring into the shop, with nothing to trust but Harry’s word. Harry had seen so much in Eggsy Unwin in less than an hour, and every word he said was true:  _I see a young man with potential._

He hadn't meant to compare what he was trying to do with Eggsy with romantic media. _Two out of three, Hart,_ he'd thought later. _Fucking ridiculous._

But he kept replaying the way Eggsy’s face lit up when he finally comprehended what was going on. _Like in My Fair Lady,_  Eggsy had recalled fondly, and Harry fell in love right then and there.

“Have you seen it?” Harry asks, so suddenly that he doesn’t think he’d made a sound until he sees Eggsy staring up at him from the bed, confused and a little startled. Embarrassed, and feeling rather foolish, Harry reiterates: “Have you seen _My Fair Lady_?”

Eggsy only snickers. “You ask the weirdest questions. Of course I’ve seen it.” He then snorts derisively, ruining the moment without realizing it. “Not for me, though. I mean, it’s a romance. Totally soppy. You’re into that, though, huh?”

_A burst of laughter while clinking martinis. A gentle touch on the small of Eggsy's back while leading him to his room. A faint trace of warm, bare skin when their fingers brushed over the breakfast table._

_"You're so gone that you don't even know it," a Scottish brogue chuckled. "Really, Harry, shaving just for him? Do you also want to change into a suit while you're at it?"_

_A perfectly-cold exterior, eyes like the glass ones of a fox stole. A bored, blank slate of a glance, before morphing into anger and disbelief. A hand--no, two hands--rising, pointing, aiming almost as quickly as a blink._

_Two gunshots. One meets its mark, perfectly._

“Just go to bed, Eggsy,” Harry then wearily says, and prepares to leave the room to enter his own, then to find some solace from his thoughts.

But Eggsy’s mobile rings, a loud and obnoxious burst of electronic dance music.

Eggsy tries four times to swipe the call button across the screen before dropping it with a loud clatter onto the floor, so Harry snatches it and answers for him.

“It’s _Lee,”_   Michelle answers, clearly trying to speak through tears, “he started seizing during his coma—oh, _god_ —and the doctors said he’s stabilized, but I want Eggsy to come here—come here, in case, in case he _—”_

With remarkable quickness, Eggsy grabs the phone from Harry and cradles it against his ear.

“Mum?” Eggsy asks, then his voice cracks when he repeats, _“Mum?”_

Michelle rattles off directions, and in less than ten minutes, Harry’s carrying Eggsy and dumping him in the car—since he doesn’t trust Eggsy to walk, much less run, in his state—and driving as fast as he can through the busy streets of London.

* * *

He’s seen Eggsy worried—desperate, even—but somehow, this seems new and old at the same time. Eggsy’s sitting in a flimsy hospital chair beside his father, head lolling on his chest, with Lee’s hand in his. Both men are asleep—Eggsy had collapsed soon after he sat down—and Harry watches him. He’s not wearing the terrible baggy tartan suit, his hair is longer and a little more carefully-styled, and there’s no panting pug or open book on parachute safety in his lap. But he looks so… _familiar_ that Harry keeps watching—for a sign, perhaps.

But it’s foolish to consider.

“Harry?”

Harry startles, not realizing he’d briefly drifted off to sleep, and sees Eggsy looking at him from his chair. His eyes are red, and tear tracks shine on his cheeks, along with a mess of snot dripping from his nose. Harry realizes he's never actually  _seen_ Eggsy cry, not like this, not even in the other world. The closest Eggsy had come to tears was during that fateful argument in Harry's bathroom, both of them cutting into each other with words that stung so much, as if they had been practiced.

_Can't you see that everything I've done has been trying to repay him?_

_I should have told him the truth,_ Harry thinks, not for the first time, _and now that I have another chance, I can't._

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Eggsy asks, voice plaintive. “I spoke to one of his superiors, and he said Dad is formally discharged from the army—"

“Your father will be all right,” Harry tells him, voice perfectly steady _._ “He’ll be fine.”

A spark of defiance pricks in Eggsy's eyes, like a too-quick flash of a firework. “How do _you_ know?”

 _Because that’s what I wished,_ Harry thinks, but of course, he can’t say it. “Your father is a strong man. I’m sure he appreciates you being here with him.”

“Yeah, for five minutes until I passed out.” Eggsy closes his eyes, leaning back in his chair with a groan. “God, I’m tired. What did I even do last night? The last thing I remember is you dragging me out and taking me home...”

“You said a lot of things, all unpleasant,” Harry says, trying to keep his tone level, not quite ready to talk about this now. 

“Oh.” Eggsy’s voice is small, and he sits back upright. He smells worse than before, an element of stale sleep adding to smoke and alcohol, and his skin is a terrible, wax-like color with faint purple bruises and bright pink bite marks standing out clearly. “Pretty bad?"

Harry nods stiffly, not trusting himself to say anything. He might just shout at him. Or break down. Or both. 

Eggsy hangs his head. "I’m sorry, Harry.”

“It’s—” _okay,_ he nearly says, but it’s not. “…I accept your apology,” Harry says instead.

“It’s Dad—I've always been angry at him for being away so often, and I know I should feel good about him serving Queen and country, but I want him to be _around,_ and my whole life, I've been wishing for him to stay home. And ever since he was injured, I felt so—well, I got my wish, didn't I?” Eggsy clamps his mouth shut, then shakes his head. “No, you don’t need my excuses. I fucked up, Harry. I shouldn’t have sneaked out, or—or—I’m sorry." 

"Apology accepted," Harry repeats. 

"No, I mean it. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I really...I  _know_ I hurt you." 

"I've been called worse." 

Eggsy shakes his head. "It's not just that. It's...the way you're looking at me now. Like I'm missing something that was there before. Just..." he hesitates. "I have these dreams, and--"

"Eggsy?" Michelle suddenly peeks her head around the open doorway, and comes in, bearing two paper cups of steaming-hot coffee. "I got both of you something. There's breakfast in the cafeteria downstairs, or I can get something from the Chinese place just across the street." 

"I'll go," Harry volunteers, and stands up, ignoring the stiffness in his joints from sitting in one place for so long. "Stay with your husband, Ms. Unwin." 

"I can go, too," Eggsy begins to offer, but Harry interrupts: "That won't be necessary." He then gentles his voice when Michelle raises her eyebrows, clearly startled at his abruptness. "Stay here and rest. I'll be back."

"Really?" Eggsy says skeptically. There's brief fear in his eyes that pleads _don't go._

It's the same look Eggsy had just before Harry left for Kentucky.

That was how the last timeline ended, and it's the moment Harry had in mind when he rewrote time to prevent.

To save Eggsy Unwin.

 _It’s not supposed to be this way._ Harry had wished for Lee Unwin to be alive and only pass when it was his time, but everything was _wrong._ The stolen car. The drugs. The alcohol. And that was just the beginning of what was wrong with Eggsy.

 _But maybe,_ Harry dares to hope, as he walks out the door, forcing himself not to look back, _there might be potential._

But there’s still a long way to go.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt I chose was "in other news that angsty au prompt meme just floated up on my tumblr dash so - 'who are you' 'so this is gonna sound really weird right now but i made a deal to save your life but at the cost of all of your memories of us together and i’m acting like i’m not bothered but i’m dying inside' au." 
> 
> I actually wrote a lot of this fic from Eggsy's POV, and since Harry didn't tell Eggsy yet how it all went down, I'm thinking of expanding it in a series...


End file.
